


The Good Times

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, Female Reader, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 16:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: They say competitiveness brings out the worst in people. Apparently, that’s not always true.





	The Good Times

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text: "Arthur and reader’s first time that happens by accident just because they’ve become such good friends and they get too wasted playing drinking games in a saloon and they kiss and then they keep kissing. I think you get the picture. I just want smut between two people who already love and care for each other."

“So, everyone clear on the rules? Miss a shot, drink. Miss ten shots, out.”

Lenny seems proud of himself as he stands in front of you, swaying slightly. He’d been drinking. As had you, and as had everyone gathered around you, who’d come to watch or join the shooting contest that someone - you don’t remember who, if you’re honest with yourself - had decided it would be a good time to hold. Even through the haze of alcohol clouding your mind, a small, somehow still lucid part of you can’t help but wonder if shooting guns blind drunk is a good idea. At least, you can comfort yourself in the fact that you’re a good distance away from camp, in a little clearing separated from the group of tents by a few feet of thick trees.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Bill grunts from your right, taking a swig from his bottle. “Ain’t as if it’s complicated.”

“I would have thought that everything is complicated for you, Bill,” Javier quips from somewhere behind you, and Bill whips around so quickly that he almost keels over. There are a few snickers around you as Bill regains his balance before opening his mouth to speak, his skin - already red from drink - growing even redder in his anger. To you relief, Arthur steps in before he can say a single word.

“We arguin’, or shootin’?” he asks sternly, though the slight slur in his speech makes his tone less commanding than it should be - you can’t help a quiet laugh, though you’re careful to keep it to yourself. Still, Bill steps back, only shooting Javier a dark look before turning back around, once again looking to Lenny. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“Right, let’s get started then,” Sean says, stepping forward towards where Lenny had haphazardly lined up some bottles on the half-rotten trunk of a fallen tree. “Watch and learn.”

He places himself at a respectable distance, leveling his gun at his target and taking a second to aim before shooting - and missing entirely. Laughs and jeers are heard around you as Sean is made to drink, you laughing along with them as Arthur comes to stand next to you.

“So, you ready to lose, then?” he asks nonchalantly, taking out his pistol. “I can go easy on you, if you like.”

You turn to him, flashing him a smile as your hand finds the grip of your revolver.

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

“Ah, shit!”

“How - How many’s that, John?” Lenny asks from where he’s sitting on the ground. You doubt he could stand even if he wanted to.

“Ten,” John sighs, holstering his gun and grabbing his bottle from where he’d left it, taking a sip. “I’m out.”

“Leaves just you an’ me, Y/N,” Arthur says, coming to stand next to you. You smile, looking up to meet his eyes.

“And remind me how many shots you’ve missed?” you ask innocently, watching as he takes up position to shoot. He’s still for a long time, as if thinking of what to say, and you wait patiently, giving him a sickly sweet smile when he looks your way.

“Eight,” he finally grunts out before raising his pistol and shooting, seemingly without aiming. The sound of shattering glass prompts cheers from the small crowd gathered around the both of you, and he looks back to you with a smug smile. You give him one of your own as you plant your feet, raising your revolver and taking half a moment to aim before firing. Another bottle explodes.

“I’ll have you know I’m only at six,” you say lightly as you reload your gun, not deigning to look at him, and all he gives you is a non-committal grunt. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he takes aim again, breathes in, out, and shoots.

“Damn!” he curses as the bullet whizzes just a hair over its target. There is laughing and loud booing as a bottle is pushed into Arthur’s hands, and he tips it at you in mock salute before taking a long swig, stumbling back half a step when he brings the bottle down again.

“You ready to give up?” you ask when he comes to stand next to you again. “I been tellin’ you for years: I’m a better shot than you.”

“Ain’t over yet,” Arthur replies as you take aim again, shooting another bottle. 

“Sure looks like it to me,” you say lightly, and you’re not sure you like the smile he gives you when you turn to look at him - sly, almost predatory, as if he knows something you don’t.

“That’s what you think.”

* * *

You continue like this for a while, Arthur’s aim suddenly improving tremendously despite the large amount of alcohol he’d drunk, shooting bottle after bottle while you rack up one, then two, then three misses. It’s almost midnight now, and the crowd starts to thin out as people start to drift off to their beds, one after the other. Eventually, only you and Arthur remain, both too stubborn to give up.

“Right, come on, your turn,” you say as you shoot yet another bottle - at least, with the amount of alcohol the camp regularly consumes, you’re not about to run out of targets. You arm is hurting, and you’re not half as drunk as you’d been when you’d first started. You cross your arms as you see him take aim, look at you out of the corner of his eye, look back to his target, then shoot.

He misses by less than an inch, and it takes you a moment to realise you’ve won.

“Finally!” you shout, putting your revolver back in its holster as you flex your stiff fingers. You can’t help a satisfied smirk as you see him drink from his bottle - rules are rules. “Told you.”

“Sure did,” he replies half mockingly, holding out the bottle for you to take. “Strange, though; it’s somethin’ you been sayin’ for years, and you ain’t never proved it until tonight?”

You laugh and swat his shoulder before accepting the bottle and raising it to your lips to drink, closing your eyes as the whiskey burns down your throat, all the way to your stomach.

“Well, you ain’t half bad neither,” you say, bringing the bottle back down and looking at him. He barks out a laugh, hooking his thumbs into his belt.

“You tryna make me feel better?” he asks teasingly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to lose a friend just ‘cause I showed him just how much better I am than him,” you reply playfully.

That makes him laugh again, that deep, earthy laugh it seems you hear you rarely, and he holds his hand out for the bottle, taking it from your hand and bringing it to his mouth as he looks up at the sky. It’s a beautiful night; there are no clouds tonight, and the moon is thin, the stars bright. The few lanterns around you provide whatever light the moon can't, bathing you both in a warm glow.

“I ain’t offended,” he says quietly, suddenly serious, handing you the bottle again. You raise it to your lips. “Always knew you was somethin’ special.”

You’re glad you hadn’t had time to take a sip - you’re sure you would have choked on it if you had. You turn your head to look at him, but his eyes are still on the sky, seemingly unaware of your reaction. You drain the last of the bottle as you feel heat rise in your cheeks - though you’re not sure if the warmth spreading through you is due to the alcohol, or to his words.

“You were almost a challenge,” you say after taking a moment to compose yourself, and when he turns his head to look at you, you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red that no doubt still lingers in your cheeks.

“Would you believe me if I said I let you win?” he asks, and you huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

“Not a chance,” you reply.

“Guess that makes me defeated, then,” he says, facing you and bowing slightly. You give a quiet chuckle, but your laughter dies on your lips when he reaches for your hand, taking it in his and bringing it up to his mouth before you can react, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “My Lady.”

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you then, from the tip of your fingers to the soles of your feet, and you pray that he doesn’t notice. When he looks back up to meet your eyes, you know he has, and warmth pricks at your spine, sharp and impossible to ignore.

He brings himself back upright, not letting go of your hand, and you feel your heart hammering against your ribs as his eyes drop down to your lips for half a heartbeat before meeting yours again.

It’s not as if this is the first time you’d found yourself in a situation like this with Arthur; there had always been something between you, from the very beginning - but the time had never been right. There had always been another woman, another man, too much grief, too many open wounds. But it had been years since then, and you know something has changed.

You wonder if you should speak, say something, or leave, maybe - though you can admit to yourself that you don’t really want to. But before you can decide, he pulls at your hand, gently drawing you against him before kissing you.

His touch is bolder than you had thought it would be, but still somewhat unsure, his hand still holding yours as the other hovers at your side. Your body takes over before your mind can fully comprehend what's just happened; your hands rise to come and cradle his face, and your lips part for him as you kiss him more forcefully, pressing yourself closer to him. He lets go of your hand to find your hips, and you can feel years of longing in his touch, years of watching from afar and trying to forget but never managing to. You close your eyes, and hope he understands;  _ me too. Me too. _

He pulls away after what feels like an eternity, lowering his head as he looks at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters after a moment, even as he doesn’t step away, slowly looking back up at you. “I should - “

You kiss him again, cutting him off, and he only holds you tighter as everything that had stood between you through the years starts to unravel.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper between kisses, and he doesn’t, his hands roaming everywhere he’d dreamed to touch but never could, spreading warmth through your body as you kiss him hungrily, almost desperately, trying to make up for years and years of lost time. You feel his fingers brush down from your shoulder to your waist before tracing the same path back up over your stomach, lingering at the top button of your blouse for half a heartbeat before continuing on, the touch light, almost accidental, though you’d heard the hitch in his breath when he’d felt it under his fingers - eager, but still hesitant. So you part from him, just enough so that he can see you reach up to undo the first few buttons yourself, watching him as he brings his hand up to brush his fingers against the newly revealed skin, hesitating for a moment before allowing himself to make contact. His touch is warm, gentle, leaving goosebumps in its wake as you press a light, tender kiss to his lips, and you feel him lean into you for a moment before he pulls away, his touch suddenly feather-light as he meets your eyes.

“Do you - “ he starts hoarsely, and he clears his throat, his eyes flitting away before coming back to you. “Are you - I shouldn’t - “

“I want you, Arthur,” you cut him off, closing the distance between you again - he doesn’t move away. You bring both of your hands up to frame his face, palms moving down the sides of his neck and to his shoulders, lingering there. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he answers instantly, without hesitation, and his own answer seems to make something snap inside him, the last of his doubts forgotten as he kisses you again, hungrily, longingly, without restraint, his fingers making short work of the last buttons of your blouse before his hands find the skin of your stomach, leaving smoldering trails wherever he touches as his lips leave your mouth to track kisses down your neck and to your shoulder. Your hands find the buttons of his own shirt, pulling them free one after the other as his lips trace the long line of your collarbone. He groans into your mouth when he feels your palm smooth over his ribs, pressing yourself as close to him as you can to feel the skin of his chest against yours. You'd wanted this for years without being able to admit it to yourself - and now that you're here, you don't want to wait anymore.

You reach for his hand, kissing him again when he raises his head to look at you, pulling him along as you stumble back a few steps, toward a more shadowed corner of the clearing.

“Arthur,” you whisper breathlessly, lacing your fingers through his. “ _ Please _ .”

“Here?” he asks, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes. You nod.

“Yes,” you answer, feeling his grip on you tighten. “Yes.”

His lips are on yours again then, and you let your eyes flutter shut as you feel him guide you to the ground, slowly, gently. He lays you down in the grass before coming to kneel over you, your hands bunching into his shirt as you draw him to you again, kissing him heatedly as you feel his hand on your knee, smoothing down over you skirt towards where it had hiked up to the middle of your calves. You let go of his shirt, allowing him to sit back on his heels as he pushes your skirt up to gather around your waist, leaving you in your drawers. His hands brush over your clothed thighs until he reaches the waist of your underwear, looking to you for permission. You nod, and he wastes no time pulling them off, a low groan rising from his throat as his hands find your thighs again, this time bare and warm under his calloused hands as you spread your legs to let him kneel between them.

“Be lyin’ if I said I ain’t never thought ‘bout this over the years,” he whispers before leaving a trail of kisses from your stomach to your collarbone, one hand lingering on your thigh while the other one comes to cup your cheek. You feel heat spreading through you at his words, setting each of your veins aflame. “Can’t count the nights I spent thinkin’ about you like this…”

He bends down to kiss you again, long and slow, reveling in the feeling of you against him, like this, something that he’d waited so long for. Your hands rise, pressing to his chest for a moment before brushing down, toward his stomach, your touch light and seemingly innocent. You linger there for a moment before moving lower still, pressing a palm against the hard line of him through his trousers. He groans into your mouth before he parts from you, tucking his face in the crook of your neck as he rolls his hips into your touch, heaving warm, shuddering breaths against your skin as the hand he has on your thigh grips you tighter, the other planting itself next to your head as he holds himself up.

“Jesus…” he breathes as he rocks against you, seemingly unable to stop himself, seeking more friction, more warmth,  _ more _ .

His breath catches in his throat when your hand leaves him to come fumble at his belt, and you turn your head to kiss him temple, trying to make him understand just how much you’d wanted this as well, just how long you’d waited. You know he probably still doubts himself, probably can’t quite believe that you’re both here - and, to be honest, neither can you -, but you want to show him how wanted he is, how precious, how  _ good _ .

His belt clinks open, and he lets you push his pants down just enough so that you can free him, groaning as you reach into his trousers to grasp him, stroking him slowly. You spread your legs wider in wordless invitation, and you can feel how much he wants to simply push forward, but he raises his head, meeting your eyes, and you know what he’s asking without him even needing to speak:  _ are you sure? Why me? Don’t you want someone better? _

You reach up with your free hand, brushing his jaw as you draw him to you, kissing him deeply.  _ No. It’s you I want. _

_ Only you. _

His hips jolt when you stroke him again, eager, impatient, and you smile against his lips, angling your hips up toward him as both of your hands reach for his hips, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes.

_ Yes. _

He sinks into you languidly, unhurriedly, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels you around him, warm and perfect, moaning when you roll your hips against his. He sets a slow, careful rhythm, and you tighten your legs around him, trying to draw him impossibly closer, impossibly deeper. Each of your breathless moans seems to embolden him, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, but, always, loving, almost adoring. He kisses your mouth, nuzzles at the side of your neck, groaning quietly with each thrust, his hand smoothing up from your thigh to your stomach, your breasts, your shoulder, before finally coming to cradle your cheek, turning your head to face him as he presses his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes, letting yourself be consumed by the heat inside and outside, the tight ball of pleasure that had been gathering low in your stomach finally bursting as you come undone, softly, quietly, kissing his mouth, whispering his name, touching every inch of him you can reach as his thrusts become uneven, his hips stuttering against yours for a few moments more before he falls apart as well, moaning against your lips.

You stay like this for a moment, both unwilling to move, to part, to acknowledge what had just happened, willing yourselves to live in a fantasy world where it was only the two of you for a while longer. But eventually, he moves off you, laying down on his back next to you and looking up at the sky. Neither of you know what time it is, though it’s bound to be almost dawn by now.

He speaks first, eventually, his voice hoarse and low, not looking at you as he grinds out the words.

“I know this ain’t - you don’t wanna be with me, and that’s okay - “ he starts.

You reach out to grab his hand, groping at the ground blindly for a moment before you find it, and he cuts himself off when he feels you squeeze his fingers gently, reassuringly, turning your head to look at him, though he refuses to do the same.

“After all this time,” you whisper, letting your thumb brush the back of his hand, “I never wanna let you outta my sight again.”

He can’t help a laugh at that, light and quiet, and you feel his grasp on your hand tighten slightly as he finally looks at you, smiling.

“Think I can manage that,” he answers, leaning in to kiss you - gently, unhurriedly, as if you both had all the time in the world. You smile against his lips as you think to yourself that maybe you do, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 1 year anniversary to Sad Cowboy Simulator 2018. Have some porn to celebrate.


End file.
